Devil's Due
by Flight of Insanity
Summary: Even in times of peace, things are not always as they seem. The citizens of Cybertron are about to find out what happens when science brings nightmares to life. Rated for violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So this is something that came to me, kind of out of the blue, a few months ago, and I've been mulling it over in my mind almost non-stop since then. This whole thing takes place Pre-War, near the end of the Golden Age, in the 2007 Movie-verse (just because I like the character designs better!) So, we're going to use that to explain any OOC actions that might occur. There will be OCs scattered around in here because I needed more characters, with more dynamic personalities, than I could find in canon._

_Rated T for now, because of violence. It will probably go up to M with later chapters though._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, just the plot and the OCs._

_Breem: ~ 8.3 minutes_

_Joor: ~ 8 hours_

_Orn: ~13 days_

_Decaorn: 10 orns_

_Vorn: ~ 83 years_

* * *

The Chasms.

The giant rift in the side of Cybertron was quite possibly the most hostile, least hospitable location on the entire planet. No one was quite sure where it came from, or what caused it, as most records from that time had been lost to the ages. What everyone _did_ know, however, was that the Chasms were to be avoided at all costs. Through the generations, a handful of explorers, adventurers, and daredevils had decided that they could best the Chasms. Few made it out alive, even fewer made it out in one piece, mentally or physically.

The rift itself was a quite obvious danger. The sides of the canyon fell straight away, possibly even back under the remaining ground, to an unknown depth. There was no way to safely measure the depth or to see what was at the bottom, and no one in their right mind was about to launch an expedition. Sinkholes and half-hidden crevasses riddled the ground, waiting in silence to capture travelers. Toward the outer edges of the region, the ground is a bit more stable than at the fringes of the rift, but there are other dangers. Large turbo-wolves roamed the area in packs, constantly craving energon, perfectly willing to wait for an unsuspecting victim to stumble into their territory.

As often happens in nature, both terran and alien, danger carries a certain beauty. The Chasms were no exception. The few early explorers who returned, more or less sane, brought holovids and image captures of some of the unique features of the landscape. Giant spires that reached skyward, their jagged metal glinting with an ethereal beauty in the faint light of Cybertron's parent star. Clusters of intriguing arches that stood not unlike sentries at the edge of the rift, daring gravity to pull them down from their posts. Large patches of ground that were carpeted in small crystalline clusters, hypnotically luring the curious to their untimely demise. The architects of the Golden Age had looked at the images and used the ideas in their plans for some of the most beautiful cities on Cybertron – Iacon's giant buildings, Crystal City and their central gardens, the Towers.

But even with the promise of unbelievable beauty, the Chasms contained so much danger to keep most Cybertronians at bay. It was almost a fight-or-flight response, self-preservation told the individual to stay out. Not even many escaped criminals would dare take refuge in the hostile area, though most decided against the idea due to the fact that they were usually covered in someone's spilt energon and that would just attract the hungry predators. The Enforcers never looked at the Chasms while searching for convicts because they knew either they were relatively intelligent, and wouldn't risk hiding there... or they were insane, and would soon be taken care of by 'external forces'.

So confident were they that no one would ever hide in the Chasms, no one noticed a full supply truck drive into the region and come out empty. No one noticed a group of mechs making regular journeys into the region and back out. No one _would_ notice, and that was the beauty of the plan. The mechs knew how the government worked, they knew how the Enforcers thought, and they reveled in it. No one could stop them if they didn't know what was going on. They would be able to do anything they fancied, and no one – not the Council, not the Enforcers, not even the Lord High Protector himself, _no one_ would be able to stop them.

Roughly halfway between the rift's gaping maw and the far edge of the turbo-wolf territory stood a collection of lopsided pillars and large boulders. It was a secluded area, lying on the edge of the predator's hunting grounds and where the ground itself was a dangerous minefield of crevices. No mech or femme in their right mind should ever want to risk the trek, and yet, _this_ was the area used as a base of operations for a few mechs.

Hidden in the side of one of the pillars, invisible unless you knew it was there, was a door. But this door was, by all means, unique, and not just because it was in the side of a pillar in the middle of nowhere. This door was the one entrance to a vast underground complex. The complex itself had nine levels, all with different features, all with built-in security (good, corruptible, guards were hard to come by). It wasn't sanctioned by the Council or by the High Protector, rather, funded personally by some well-endowed mechs of power and science. The actions were kept quiet, done in secret and in small portions, purchases made through merchants all across the planet to keep the mech in charge of the operation off the radar of the Enforcers. For in this complex, experiments were taking place. Experiments that had no place for ethics or the pesky moral code the Council forced on the scientific community.

* * *

"Where'n th' _Pit_ 's tha' half-bit, Sieve?"

No one dared answer the thick, angry voice that rang out across the factory floor. Answering a rhetorical question, more often than not, led to a swift beating and a pay cut. Not that the pay was very high in the first place. A very large, heavily armored mech stomped his way across the vast room. His footfalls echoed around with the sound of machinery, carrying with them the promise of all things painful for the mech responsible for invoking such rage.

The unfortunate mech, Sieve, was a worker in this factory in Kaon. Now, normally, the foreman wouldn't care one way or another if the workers showed up, quit, or died. Really, the only reason he bothered to wonder where this one mech went, was because Sieve happened to work hard... and he didn't complain. Unlike _some_ mechs out on the floor.

Hard optics locked onto a dirty blue mech who happened to be slacking off, appearing quite oblivious to the angry mech. The foreman snarled deep in his chest, and several workers nearby turned feverishly to their tasks, trying to look as busy as possible. In two long strides, he was right behind the unfortunate worker and a thick hand clamped down onto the mech's shoulder, grabbing the weak metal hard enough to dent it. The worker cried out as he was pulled backwards and slammed into the floor. A cracking sound was heard as the blue mech's helm bounced off the unforgiving floor of the factory. Before he had a chance to move, a heavy foot slammed into his chest, caving the metal in and pinning him to the ground.

The foreman bent down so he was closer to the mech, "Care t' tell me _why_ y' ar'n't workin'?"

A weak, raspy cough was the blue mech's only response. The foreman put more weight onto the mech's chest. "Are y' unhappy wi' th' _generous_ breaks yer giv'n?"

The blue mech, wide opticed and in pain, quickly shook his head. A humorless smirk crept onto the foreman's facial plating, "Good. It'd be a shame t' have unhappy workers." The sarcasm was almost tangible as it dripped off the mech's words. The foreman pulled his foot off the worker, the blue mech almost sighed with relief as the pressure was removed from his chest plates. He yelped in pain instead when the foreman kicked him viciously in the side to flip him over. "Get up."

Not one to push his already short luck, the blue mech quickly scrambled to his feet, trying his best to ignore the massive amount of pain he was in. He kept his dim optics averted, but he could _feel_ the stare directed at him by the foreman. He heard a disapproving noise, and then a loud whistle tore through the dusty air of the factory. After a moment, another heavy mech appeared behind the foreman. The foreman waved a hand at the blue mech, "Take 'im t' see th' boss. Maybe then 'e'll think twice 'fore 'e d'cides t' slack off."

The blue mech's head snapped up in alarm, and the terror was clear in his optics. The second heavy mech chuckled lowly as he grabbed a hold of the mech's arm and drug him off. To the worker's credit, he kept quiet – he knew it would be useless to try to call for help. The foreman stood for a moment more, watching the worker get hauled out of the main room. An eerie silence followed the whole episode, but was quickly broken by an angry snarl, "Ah suggest all y' 'cad'my rejects git back t' work, 'nless y'd like t' join yer buddy."

The sounds of running machinery and metal being worked quickly refilled the cavernous room as the rest of the workers made themselves busy. The foreman glared around the room, making sure every mech was hard at work. He stomped his way back to the raised platform at the front of the factory to make a few calls. They needed two new mechs to work the machines – Sieve was obviously a goner, and the blue mech, whatever his name was, was as good as dead. The boss didn't tolerate slackers.

* * *

Dark metal walls enclosed the dimly lit room. As new as this whole complex was, this room certainly didn't look it. Various fluids had left large stains on the floor and the walls, dust had collected on several shelves in the back, and the lights higher on the ceiling had been blown out and never replaced. Two dim lights shone feebly from their recessed locations in the walls on either side of the door. Most of the light in the room came from the one bright light suspended from the high ceiling. Mobile trays of tools – some pristine, some scorched, others stained an eerie purple – sat against one wall, waiting to be used. Two drones were in one corner of the room, silent and still until they were needed by the user of the room.

The door slid open with a slight grinding sound, admitting three walking figures. One, a black mech with gold accents, walked over to the tools and began rearranging them – putting certain ones on one tray and the others on the second. When he appeared satisfied with the tools, he grabbed one of the trays and brought it to the center of the room. The other two mechs to enter the door had been pushing a mobile berth, containing a prone form strapped to the surface. They wheeled the berth into the middle of the room, under the hanging light, and locked it into place. That done, the two retreated to the door, and stood at attention in front of it, guarding. They were there, not to keep anything from coming into the room, but rather, to keep anything from getting _out_, should something go awry.

The black mech wandered slowly around the berth, taking in every angle of the unconscious mech on the table. It was a pathetic sight, really. The armor was obviously unkempt – the paint a faded, dingy green, and the panels full of dents and gouges. It was a common frame type, shared by countless individuals on the planet, probably a factory default with no significant upgrades. The black mech smirked. He didn't know where their hunter _got_ these subjects, but he was certainly good at finding the ones that wouldn't be missed if they suddenly disappeared.

A quick schematic came up in the black mech's heads-up as he double checked the blueprints for this one. Subject S72184S26. It was a dangerous idea, one that had been tried and failed several times before, but would make the mech a marvel if it worked. It was tricky, getting all the delicate wiring installed, and even more difficult to get the subject's spark and CPU to accept the required circuitry. The other previous attempts had either offlined half-way through the process or in extreme pain a few breems after being brought back online.

The mech activated his face mask and visor, and started removing the dirty armor on the mech's arms and hands. Might as well start with the easy part. The medic was well trained, but installing such a complex array of delicate wires and circuits into the mech's hands would be arduous and would require a lot of concentration.

It took several long, silent joors – punctuated only by the occasional clink of metal on metal as someone moved, and the crackling hiss as the medic soldered wired together – before the medic was done with the work in the subject's arms and hands. After a brief moment's break, the medic began preparing to wire the circuitry into the mech's CPU and his spark chamber. He didn't need to look up to know he was being observed.

The medical bay didn't have any windows at floor level, as some of the subjects could become quite violent, but one level above, there was a large viewing window, where one could stand and observe the events in the room below.

Behind this window, in the adjoining observation room, stood the mastermind behind the whole complex and the experiments within its walls. The mech had been trained at the Iaconian Science Academy and had quickly proven his abilities as a scientist. Upon his graduation, the mech had gone straight into research – first working under the supervision of a senior scientist, but before long, he was conducting his own research under the Council's guidance, most of which was directed at enhancing the lives of the Cybertronian populace. After several successful projects funded by the Council, the mech had come up with a new proposal. Every knowledgeable citizen knew that the planet's supply of energon wasn't going to last forever, that it was only a matter of time before there was a serious problem at hand. Several other scientists were conducting research on new sources of energon, or how to artificially manufacture it at a reasonable price. This mech, however, had a different idea – why not try to create Cybertronian bodies that didn't have to run on purified energon.

He had submitted his request to the Council, but they had denied him funding. Part of his proposal involved the direct tampering with a subject's spark and the ethical code that the Council held as doctrine clearly stated that experiments involving the manipulation of a subject's living spark were highly immoral and forbidden. The Council was not about to risk the reputation of the scientific community on such a foolish endeavor when there was no immediate need for such experiments.

A dark hand tightened on the hand rail, leaving dents in the metal. Foolish Council members. What did they know? It was for the greater good, and only a few subjects would be needed. But there was no convincing the Council once they had made a decision, so the mech had put on a show of politeness and excused himself. Before he was out of the room, a plan was forming in his processor. He had the credits, and the acquaintances to bring his ideas to completion. A few quick calls, and some hard, outsourced work, and this complex had been constructed, quickly, quietly, in secret right under the Council's watchful optic.

Hydraulics hissed in the near-darkness as the mech shifted his weight around. The medic in the room below, they had known each other for quite some time, even before either of them had enrolled in the academy. Neither had been entirely pleased with the moral restrictions forced down the throats of the scientific community, and the black mech had been all-too-happy to assist in this grand experiment. Without ethics to restrain their ideas, they could work in peace. If a subject died, it was no big deal – they wouldn't be missed anyway – the idea was marked as a failure, and new ideas were created.

The mech in the viewing room turned his head slightly as the medic took a step back from the subject and wiped his hands clean. A scan was obviously taken, and the medic appeared pleased with the results. He called a drone online and gave it an order, most likely to clean up the tools, and then told the guard something before leaving the medbay. The guards exchanged a nervous glance before fixing their looks on the prone form on the table. The mech didn't look any different, but the guards had learned quickly that nothing in this complex was entirely what it seemed.

The door to the viewing room opened with a pneumatic hiss, and surprisingly quiet footfalls echoed through the small space as the newcomer made his way across the floor. There was a moment of silence followed by the larger mech's near monotone, "I take it the operation was a success."

The medic nodded in the silence before answering in his smooth, rhythmic voice, "That frame type has simple systems, very basic. I don't now where exactly our hunter gets them, but he certainly does good work." a smirk appeared, "You should give him a raise."

"I'll think about it," the other mech replied, used to the medic's wandering conversations, "Did the CPU and spark take the implants?"

"The CPU was easy enough, there wasn't much else going on in there. The coding is all lined up, and ready for testing. The subject's spark rejected the implants at first, but accepted it after a while. I called Parameter down to do the activation and to take him down for testing. I didn't want to have to clean up another mess."

Silence filled the room again as the two stood in their thoughts. The medbay doors opening again drew their attention to the room below them. The medic chuckled, "Well, speak of the Unmaker..."

A dark orange, slightly small mech entered through the now-open doors of the medbay. The mech was once a well-respected psychologist from Iacon, famed for being able to treat glitches of all kinds. An unfortunate investigation, however, led to the discovery that his "treatments" weren't exactly the kind of thing one would want to subject themselves, or, Primus forbid, their creations to. Needless to say, the mech had been very kindly thrown out of the high scientific circles and left with nothing... Until a certain medic friend had called with a job offer. Now, though, he was wondering if he should have just stayed at his dead end job in Kalis.

Sure, there were no ethics to worry about anymore, but _Primus_, some of these subjects could be a handful. Just last decaorn, they had to hire all new guards for Sector 3, thanks to a rather volatile experiment. Parameter was almost glad he didn't know what exactly they'd done to this one. He didn't look any different... but then again, neither did the other ones. The orange psychologist blew air from his vents as he kicked the brakes on the berth and pushed the subject out the door. At least that medic could get his hands on some high-end high grade.

* * *

_A/N: ...Sooo, what do you think? :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Mild language warning on this one._

_Special thanks to **Jzeylyn** for the review! _

* * *

The cafeteria wasn't large or fancy, but it was a decent place for the off duty mechs and femmes to gather after their shifts or on their breaks. There were several tables in the middle of the room, all surrounded by basic chairs. One of the larger tables had the remnants of a game left in the middle of it, probably left abandoned when the players had been called for duty. There were a couple energon dispensers along one wall and a receptacle for the empty cubes. The rest of the wall space was occupied by large windows, holographic images of award ceremonies, and two doors.

At the moment a lone blue mech occupied the room, pouring over the data pads scattered across his table. He had a stylus in one hand and paused in his readings long enough to scribble a quick note on another data pad. His mouth moved silently as he reread something, and he sat back, turning the information over in his processor. The sound of laughter broke his concentration and he blew air through his intakes in frustration, trying to ignore the mechs that came through the door.

A red and blue doorwinger was obviously the mech responsible for the laughter, as an amused smirk still decorated his facial plating. His partner, another doorwinger – this time black and white, only raised an optic ridge and managed to look mildly confused. The red and blue one clapped the other on the shoulder, "Don't worry, Prowl, you'll get it one day."

The one called Prowl returned his expression to its typical neutral, "I highly doubt I will ever understand you completely, Smokescreen."

Smokescreen paused as Prowl kept walking toward the energon dispenser, "I'm not sure if I should take that as an insult or a compliment."

"I did not intend for it to be an insult or a compliment. It was merely a statement of truth." Prowl returned.

The black and white secured a table on the other side of the room from the blue mech already there. Smokescreen shook his head in amusement and got his own cube before joining Prowl at the table. Prowl had a couple data pads in front of him and was working on filling out the necessary forms for a mission follow-up. Smokescreen merely tilted his chair back and put his feet up on the table. He took a thoughtful sip of his energon and studied his partner. The black and white mech hadn't been with the force for long, a vorn maybe, but he was good at the job – he had a knack for seeing things in a certain light that most mechs would miss. Though that probably came from being a pre-program, it didn't make the mech any less interesting. Logic ruled the mech, that was for certain; not even Soundwave was _that_ logical.

The red and blue doorwinger shifted his shoulders to alleviate some of the pressure on his door panels; the force _really_ needed to get some different chairs. He watched his partner fill out more of the forms, having yet to take a sip of his energon. Smokescreen took another drink, "You know Prowl. Breaks are for relaxing, not working."

Prowl didn't even look up from his work, "And shift hours are for working, not gambling, Smokescreen."

Smokescreen put a hand over his spark in mock pain, "Oh, that hurts Prowl."

One of the doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and Smokescreen turned to look at the new arrival. He grinned and called out, "Hey, Soundwave!"

The silver mech in the doorway waved a hand in a half-hearted greeting and made a bee-line for the energon dispenser. He grabbed his fuel and made his way to the table with Prowl and Smokescreen, wearily dropping into an empty chair. A rattling purr sounded from the floor and he automatically removed something from his subspace and sat it on the ground for Ravage. Soundwave took a long drink from his cube and sat back in his chair. He too watched Prowl work on reports for a moment before asking, "Prowl?"

Prowl paused momentarily and looked up. Soundwave gestured at the data pads, "Aren't you on break?"

The black and white went back to filling out the form as he replied, "Yes, but if I do not complete them now, they will never get done." He flicked a quick look in his partner's direction.

Smokescreen shrugged as Soundwave looked at him questioningly then smirked at Prowl across the table, "I just know Harlem'll give them back if I fill them out. So it seems... _logical_ to let you do them and save the extra time."

Prowl gave Smokescreen his best 'I-can't-believe-you-just-said-that' look, which only made the blue and red grin even wider and made Soundwave laugh. The door hissed open again and they all looked over to see none other than the Captain himself standing in the doorway. The impressive blue and black mech gave a quick glance around the room, "Perfect! Every mech I need to see, all nice and cozy in one place."

The mech walked over to the table with Prowl, Smokescreen, and Soundwave, each step conveying his confidence and power. As powerful as he seemed, Harlem was a fairly laid-back mech – a rare thing for an Enforcer Captain. Even though he captained one of the largest squads of enforcers on the planet, he managed to keep his laid-back attitude _and_ run a highly organized unit. Harlem stopped at the edge of the table and gave each mech a data pad. He waited while the mechs flipped through the information, taking in the most important details. Smokescreen let out a low whistle, "Are you serious?"

Harlem bowed his head slightly in a nod, "I do not lie, Smokescreen."

Prowl arched an optic ridge – an expression he appeared quite fond of – and asked, almost hesitantly, "It says it was a break _in_, not a break _out._"

Harlem nodded again, "That's correct."

Prowl looked like he was having trouble accepting that fact; Smokescreen still seemed almost in awe. Harlem crossed his arms across his chest, "Anaon's head of security reported it this morning. One inmate was missing, but all signs point to a break in and an abduction rather than a break out – namely the fact that the inmate in question was locked in a semi-permanent stasis. It was most likely a professional job, and they knew exactly where they were going. The only two casualties were the guards outside the cell, which is a lot better than it could have been. So, you three," a growl interrupted him here, "You _four_ are going to go investigate and find out exactly what happened. I want this kept as quiet as possible – no need to get the public in a panic."

The three mechs gave their affirmatives and Harlem bade them good luck before turning to leave the room. On the way out, he paused by the other table, "Nightbeat, I'd like a progress report for your case ASAP. The victims are about to go vigilante, and I need to give them something."

Nightbeat nodded his head, "Yessir."

Harlem gave an appreciative smile and left the room.

At the other table, Smokescreen downed the rest of his cube and dropped his feet back to the floor, "Well. Let's get a move on."

Soundwave shook his head slowly at the eccentric mech, but stood and walked to the receptacle and dropped his now empty cube in the opening. Ravage stood up and stretched, his metallic claws ticking on the floor as he wandered over to his master's side. Prowl finished most of his cube and subspaced his data pads. The three left the room and headed for the penitentiary, leaving Nightbeat to his blissful silence once more.

* * *

Anaon was a maximum security penitentiary at the edge of Iacon's borders. Typically, when a criminal was sentenced to Anaon they were there for the rest of their lives; which could sometimes end up being shorter than one might expect.

The distance to the penitentiary was short enough for the mechs to travel in their alternate modes, rather than take the planet-wide transit system. Silence accompanied them along the way, leaving each mech to wonder roughly the same thing; Who could have done this and why?

When they arrived at the center, the head of security was waiting for them, looking completely and utterly pissed. Whether it was at himself, the mechs under his command, or the Enforcers, no one was quite sure, but he was definitely _not_ a happy mech. The heavily armored brown mech was standing in front of the doors, arms crossed, with a hateful scowl on his face. A weapon was holstered on one hip and an electric rod on the other.

The enforcers transformed back into their root modes and approached the security mech. The brown mech narrowed his optics and snarled, "It's about damn time you got here."

Prowl inclined his head ever so slightly, "Our apologies. Our Captain had to brief us on the situation before sending us to your location. Enforcer protocol."

"Protocol, my ass. _You_ don't have to keep all these glitches in line. Do you have any idea how many break out attempts we've had today, thanks to this whole incident?"

Smokescreen fixed the mech with an almost sympathetic look in an attempt to pacify the mech's anger slightly. It didn't work. The mech just bristled further and gave each of the enforcers a look that gave him the appearance of trying to divine the secrets of their sparks. The red and blue doorwinger tried again, "I'm sure you've had quite a trying orn, but if you'd take us inside, we could get started and then get out of your way."

The brown mech adjusted his stance slightly, losing a tiny bit of the aggressiveness. He didn't completely relax, but the slight change was the best the enforcers could hope for.

"Name's Lockout," the mech stated bluntly.

Realizing they had forgotten to introduce themselves, Smokescreen gestured to each enforcer as he gave their names, "My name's Smokescreen and this is my partner Prowl. That's Soundwave, and his cat Ravage."

Lockout gave the doorwinger a small nod before turning and waving for them to follow him into the compound. The walk in was done in silence as they passed check point after check point of armed security. Snipers could be seen in the high guard towers, and roaming patrols were seen at the perimeter. Several guards they passed had vicious looking turbohounds leashed next to them. The hounds went into a frenzy of snarling as Ravage passed, but the metallic cat gave no reaction other than the occasional flick of his tail.

Though only a few select mechs were privy to the information, Ravage wasn't your average cybercat. He was just as intelligent as any of the other enforcers on the squad and actually maintained a telepathic link with Soundwave. It made the cat far more useful in action, as he could function as a cybercat – with senses far more sensitive than those of the other officers – and he could tell Soundwave directly what he found, instead of relying on the mech to correctly interpret his actions.

The small band of mechs finally reached the central security hub, and the two mechs on duty spared them a brief glance before going back to monitoring the dozens of screens on the wall in front of them. Lockout stepped to an empty console and pulled up the footage from the previous night. The screen showed a pair of armed guards standing on either side of a door being passed by another pair of guards on roving patrol through the halls. Lockout paused the feed and pointed to the stationary armed mechs, "Those are the guards for the stasis wing. There are always two of them there, outside that door. Now watch."

He pushed a button, and the footage started playing again. To the untrained optic, it would look just normal, like nothing was happening. To the enforcers and the head of security, the nanoklik of hesitation on the footage was like a blaring klaxon. Lockout paused the footage again and turned around, "You all saw that, right?"

There were nods from the three mechs. Prowl looked at the brown mech, "Why did no one catch this at the time?"

Lockout growled slightly, "Had a new mech on duty, and _apparently_ he wasn't paying attention then."

"I see. How long is the loop?"

The brown mech paused as he pulled the information out of his memory, "Five breems, repeats six times."

Soundwave's optics widened slightly at that, and Smokescreen made a surprised sound, "They were that fast?"

Lockout scowled again and nodded once, "I'm willing to bet they knew where they were going."

Prowl was silent for a moment as his tactical computer kicked into action. "Do you think it could have been an inside job?"

"No chance. We've already ruled out that factor. Believe me, if it was an inside job, we wouldn't have needed outside help."

The enforcers didn't doubt that; the prisons were notorious for dealing out their own punishments where they were due. Prowl looked at Soundwave, "You and Ravage stay here and gather all the footage and everything else you feel is important. Smokescreen and I will go down to the stasis wing and investigate there."

Soundwave nodded. Lockout pointed at the two mechs on duty in the hub, "Those two will be happy help you get whatever it is you need." The underlying threat in the words was all too obvious.

Lockout walked out the door, closely followed by the two doorwingers, leaving Soundwave and Ravage to take care of the footage. It was obvious that the security had been tightened throughout the entire compound. There were more guards than were probably necessary, and all of them were armed. As they reached the stasis wing itself, they could see that the customary two guards had been increased to six, all armed. There were still small stains on the wall and floor from where the unfortunate guards had been shot the previous night.

The guards were waved to the side by Lockout and he paused as the two enforcers came up beside him. He pointed to the wall on either side of the door, "That's where the two guards would have been standing. They got hit with clean shots, right through the spark with some sort of high powered, extremely muffled weapon. The shooter took overkill shots through their processors after they'd fallen to destroy the memory banks."

Smokescreen knelt next to the door and studied the wall and floor, "Definitely a professional hit job. To be able to get off those shots that fast without the guards noticing... And then to remember to take out the memories."

Prowl turned and surveyed the area around them. The place was rather brightly lit, and there weren't many places for a sniper to hide on this level. His gaze wandered up, and he noticed the second level. There was a railing to prevent falls from the level and a hallway of sorts, and then a row of cells. The black and white got Lockout's attention and pointed to the upper level, "How often to guards patrol that area?"

Lockout looked up at the railing, "There aren't roaming patrols there, but there are stationed guards on each end of that hall. Shifts change every four joors."

Prowl nodded slowly as he thought of something, "Excuse me for a moment."

"Go right ahead."

The black and white strode over to a set of stairs and made his way to the second level. Smokescreen gave his partner a glance before turning his attention to the lock on the door. There was no outward sign of a forced entry, and the keypad was still intact. The doorwinger looked back at Lockout and pointed at the key pad, "How many know the codes for this?"

"Every member of the security force," Lockout answered.

Smokescreen made a thoughtful sound before asking, "Can I take this cover off? I'd like to see the circuitry behind it."

"Sure, but hold on." Lockout paused as he communicated with someone through an internal comm link. After a moment, he focused back on Smokescreen, "Ok, go ahead."

The doorwinger nodded slightly and turned back to the keypad. Pulling a small multi-tool from his subspace, he began removing the panel. He left the keypad connected to the wall by wires, but pulled it off far enough to easily see the circuitry behind it. His well-trained optics took in every bit of the components, looking for any sign of tampering. Surprise and a bit of disappointment decorated his features as he took in the last bit; there wasn't a single sign of tampering on anything.

He replaced the panel and turned around noticing Lockout watching him intently. The brown mech said, "Well?"

"I can't find anything out of place on the lock or in the circuitry. I can only assume the intruders knew the codes." Smokescreen shrugged.

Lockout rubbed a hand over his optics and blew air through his intakes. If he had a comment to make, he was cut off by Prowl's voice coming down from the second level, "Smokescreen, please stand where the guard would have been."

The red and blue mech moved to the side slightly and stood with his back to the door. "This good?"

Prowl's voice sounded again, "Very. Can you see me?"

Smokescreen looked carefully across the upper railing, "No. Why?"

"Because I have you in my sights." There was a slight pause, and Prowl could be heard asking the guards at the end of the hall if they could see him. The guard's responses were muffled, but Smokescreen guessed they both said no. The black and white stepped out from behind one of the walls on the side of the railing and called down, "Lockout, when the guards change, is there a moment where there is no one here?"

Lockout scowled as he realized where this was going, "No, but it's possible there was a slip up." Smokescreen could hear him quietly cursing the lives of the guards.

Prowl called back down, "If the sniper knew when the shift would change, which I believe we can safely take as fact, he could have easily slipped in here, out of sight and waited. The other infiltrators could have gotten in down there and waited for the sniper to make his move. Sniper takes out the guards, and the others get in the room and they all flee as quickly as they arrived."

Smokescreen nodded, "Makes sense. There's no sign of tampering on the lock, so we can probably assume they knew the entry codes too."

Lockout was silent as he took in the information. Prowl came back down the stairs and looked at the head of security, "When did the loop start, in reference to the shift change?"

"... Dammit. The loop started right at shift change." the brown mech ground out.

Prowl and Smokescreen exchanged a look before turning their attention back to Lockout. "What can you tell us about the inmate?"

"Well, he was one crazy fragger, that's for sure. He was the one that would randomly abduct some poor mech... or femme... whichever happened to cross his path, I think. Took them to wherever caught his demented fancy and tortured them until they offlined from energon loss. As far as I know, they were still finding pieces of the bodies when they had us shut him down."

The doorwingers stood in silence, Smokescreen had heard of that mech before; the squad had had one hell of a time trying to take him down. Prowl's processor was working almost over time, trying to come up with an answer to the whole fiasco. Each scenario seemed just as unlikely as the last though, and he wasn't going to get anywhere without more information.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Bit of language, and the first part's probably a little disturbing, but the mech was really, really insane._

_Thanks to **HairyGoggles** on dA for suggesting the name Enigma, and to **Jakey101** for the name Pulse._

_Aaand, super thanks to **Cliffjumpersfangirl** and **Litahatchee** for the reviews for Ch.2 and to everyone who added me and this story to their favorites and alerts! :)_

_And enough of my notations... here we go!_

_

* * *

_

In an empty office in the archive section of the headquarters, Prowl sat at a table covered in data pads. A console sat against one wall, active and ready, waiting for input to display on its large screen. Getting the case file from Harlem had been easier than expected. The case, as it turned out, was still open, so the relevant files were more readily accessible; the hard evidence collected from the crime scenes was locked in a separate compound for security reasons.

Out of respect for the sparks of the victims of the violent crimes that were always present in Iacon, the enforcers would never close a case unless every loose end had been wrapped up. In this case, two of the known victims were still unaccounted for.

Prowl picked up one of the data pads and turned it on. The screen flared to life with the case basics – names of the main investigators, the suspects and the victims, along with an index for the rest of the files. The young enforcer noted with some surprise that the case had been sitting open for almost four vorns now. Possibly even more surprising was the fact that Harlem, along with some mech named Pulse, had been the lead enforcer on the case. Prowl scribbled a quick note on a blank pad and looked at the murderer's name.

Enigma. _How fitting_, he mused. According to what he'd heard from Harlem and Smokescreen, Enigma had either been highly intelligent or severely glitched... or both. His attacks had been so spontaneous, so random, the best minds Iacon had to offer were still shaking their heads. Back then, the city had been in a state of emergency – a curfew had been put into effect and the force had nearly tripled in size with the influx of help from the other city-states. Bots were warned to travel in pairs at the very least, and to stay off the streets at night, no matter how well they thought they knew the territory. And yet, there were always those few who thought they could best anything the criminal world decided to throw at them. Several of them were proven wrong.

Glancing the list of victims, the black and white picked up a second pad containing detailed information about each murdered bot. Three mechs and four femmes. A side note mentioned the indirect death of another mech; one of the femmes had been bonded when she was murdered.

There wasn't much in common from victim to victim – they all led different lives and worked in different fields. One mech was a medic, one was a politician, the third a bouncer at one of the city's night clubs. The first femme killed had been a caretaker at a youth sector, another was an armor detailer, the third was a dancer, and the bonded pair were both traveling musicians. According to friends of the murdered, the victims didn't know each other and probably hadn't ever seen one another.

He grabbed another data pad and plugged it into the console, casting the images from the scenes onto the screen. The pictures created a horrific mural along the wall, the light from the screen bathing everything in the room with an eerie light.

The locations themselves appeared to be chosen just as randomly as the victims; there was no pattern connecting the victim to the location or even one locale to another. But there were a few aspects of the murders that carried from scene to scene.

Probably the most obvious was the unholy amount of fluid strewn about the scene. It was obvious that some sort of horrific torture had taken place. There was always a large pool of fluid in the middle of the area, a swirling mess of pinkish energon and the darker blue and black hydraulic fluids and lubricants that kept a bot alive. And somehow, the life fluids of the victim always ended up cast all about the room. The furniture, the walls, everything ended up stained. But whether or not it was done by the hemorrhaging, spasming frame of the victim or by the meticulous murderer was still up for debate.

Now, as Prowl looked at the images for himself, he could say he understood why some of the criminologists had believed the spatter to be intentional. It looked almost... artful, in a sadistic sort of way. He frowned thoughtfully and entered a quick command into the console, arranging the images in chronological order. Processor working hard, Prowl stared at the newly ordered images. Was there a pattern there? Or was he just falling victim to a self-fulfilling prophecy? He shuttered his optics for a moment before reordering the images again, this time putting mech victim scenes on one side, femmes on the other.

Still nothing. Prowl's mouth ticked down in a scowl. It was almost aggravating for the mech, there was that feeling nagging at the back of the processor, telling him he was missing something – some pattern, some clue, _something_ – but he couldn't bring the thought to light.

His doorwings twitched in irritation as he directed his attention away from the energon-covered scenes. Perhaps if he focused on something else, he would figure out what was causing that annoying feeling. Another command into the console brought up a new set of images.

At each of the scenes, there had only been one piece of each victim left behind. Enigma had obviously planned in advance exactly which part he would be leaving behind; it was always something that would leave no doubt as to the identity of the victim – a visor, a door wing or maybe a particularly detailed piece of armor. In each case the piece was left in the exact center of the energon pools, almost like an offering. But an offering to what? Or to whom?

The enforcers had only managed to capture Enigma thanks to a tip from a strangely helpful thief. The thief only had a vague explanation of why he was helping; something about 'secret intentions' and 'dead clients were useless clients', but nothing else. And as soon as the force had Enigma in custody, the thief vanished back into the world before he could be rewarded... or captured.

Once in custody, Enigma refused to explain anything, only speaking in riddles, vague analogies and answering questions with questions. To say it was frustrating for the interrogators would have been the understatement of the vorn. Though, out of the undirected responses and questions, the bots were able to discern subtle clues as to where to find the rest of most of the victims, save for the two still missing.

Prowl tapped his stylus against the desk as he turned the information over in his processor. As he reached for one of the pads full of images, the communicator on the wall gave a ping, signaling an incoming message.

_.:Prowl, this is Soundwave.:._

The black and white stood and pressed the reply button, "This is Prowl."

_.:We have something you may want to see.:._

"And that is?"

_.:An image of our infiltrators.:._

* * *

Soundwave and Ravage had been ceaselessly pouring, frame by frame, over the footage from the hundreds of security cameras at the prison. Most of their hard work had been in vain, but there were three short clips, from three different cameras, that offered glimpses of the infiltrators.

The two sat at the console, waiting for Prowl and Smokescreen to come to the office. Ravage sat on a chair, tail swinging slowly from side to side, looking quite proud of himself. Soundwave just looked relived that they were finally done going through all of the footage. The two doorwingers arrived at the office at nearly the same time.

Smokescreen's gaze landed on the screen, which had three videos lined up to play, and said "So, you said you guys found something?"

If Ravage could have smiled, he would have been beaming. Soundwave gave a quick nod, "That's right. The images are slightly blurry, but you can tell they aren't guards."

A few keystrokes brought the first video to the center of the screen while the other two slid to one side. This camera was located on the outside of the prison walls. The scene it captured was dark with shadows, the light having been broken a few decaorns before and never replaced, leaving only the ambient light from farther away to give contrast between the objects. It was hard to catch, but a small figure could be seen darting across the area, sticking close to the wall in the shadows and staying low.

After the clip had finished, Soundwave backed it up and pulled up a still shot, zooming in on the figure. Even with the darkness of the clip, it was fairly easy to tell the figure was far too small and delicate to be a guard at Anaon.

Smokescreen made a thoughtful sound, "I figured they would've hacked the system. It might've made their job a little easier."

"The security at Anaon is state-of-the-art. An attempted hack would have been counterproductive to their operation," Prowl countered. He gestured to the figure, "Do we have any idea who that is?"

Soundwave shrugged slightly, "It's hard to get a lot of detail from this image. We're pretty sure it's a femme, but there's something about the color of her armor that makes the light reflect in unusual ways. It's almost impossible to tell exactly what she looks like, much less the actual color of her armor."

Smokescreen frowned with concentration before widening his optics in as he realized something. He pointed to the figure, "I think I've seen something like that before."

The other three looked at him with questioning expressions, and he continued, "One of my contacts was telling me about the devices thieves employ to get in and out of places undetected, and one of them is that paint job. For whenever a security hack is impossible, or just more work than its worth, they'll decorate their armor with a special kind of paint that, if done right, apparently scatters light in all different directions, breaking up their outline and making it easier for them to disappear in plain sight."

"That makes sense," Prowl mused, "Did your contact tell you how the paint was made?"

Smokescreen shook his head, "No, just told me something about magicians and secrets."

Ravage cocked his head and looked at Soundwave, _--Magicians?--_

Soundwave shrugged, _--I don't know. Smokescreen's contacts aren't always sane.--_

Prowl looked at Soundwave, "Let's see the other clips."

The silver mech nodded and keyed up the second clip, followed by the third. The second and third clips both caught sight of two more slinking figures, both larger than the femme – probably mechs – but still less bulky than the prison guards. Like with the femme, it was difficult to tell from the stills exactly what color the two mechs were.

A moment of silence engulfed the room before Smokescreen stated, "Well. It's better than nothing, I suppose."

Ravage's ears flicked back and forth in a sort of affirmative. Soundwave looked back at Prowl, "Did you find anything in the case files?"

"Not much more than we knew from Smokescreen and Harlem," he turned his attention to Smokescreen and asked, "Are you familiar with a mech named Pulse?"

"Yes and no. I talked to him a couple of times, but not much. From what I could tell, he was a slagging good criminologist, but he left the force after that case. You'd probably have better luck asking Harlem – those two are good friends."

Ravage cocked his head to one side and sent a question to Soundwave, who voiced it aloud, "Why would he leave if he was good at his job?"

"Maybe it was getting too intense," Smokescreen shrugged.

Prowl's doors twitched, "We may as well talk to Harlem, he might know more about why Pulse left," he gestured at the screen, "And maybe he can help with identifying these three."

* * *

Deep underground in the dark maze that comprised the complex, a mech lay in a state of semi-consciousness. He felt weightless and free, and yet... confined. Something had been changed, somewhere; he didn't know what, but something told him not all was well in his little world anymore.

How long had it been since he'd had control over his body? A joor, a vorn, an eternity? He could remember all their faces – the mix of emotions that decorated their faceplates – as clearly as if he were looking at them now. But somewhere along the way, he'd lost track of time. Some immeasurable amount of time was spent while the mech tried to remember what 'time' even was.

Eventually he decided he didn't really care that much. In his free little world, time had no meaning. He was sure he'd been here for quite some time, and it was likely he'd be stuck here for a while yet. His thoughts turned to the memories of before; he wasn't sure how they caught him, but that didn't matter. They didn't understand, they never would. It wasn't _his_ choice. How he'd tried to tell them, but _they_ were deaf to the words. They were below him, and they couldn't understand. _They_ couldn't fathom the fact that they weren't in control, they didn't want to believe it.

He didn't consider it wrong, what he did. He was merely doing what needed to be done. Yes. That was it. Those he had hunted, they had marred the beauty of the world, of the civilization, of the city. He had simply been cleaning the mess left by the overly-accepting society of the world.

As he floated about in his own little universe, the mech felt a disturbance somewhere. It felt... familiar, almost, but it had been so long since he'd felt anything, he wasn't sure what to make of the feeling. Carefully extending the reach of his consciousness, he reached toward the feeling. Curiosity took over as he explored more. What _was_ that? He thought he should know, but...

An uncomfortable wave of strange sensations rippled through his little universe, and his conscious mind recoiled slightly as new awareness came to him suddenly. After a moment of careful deliberation, he probed the new awareness. He wasn't quite sure _what_ it was, but it was certainly his. Could it be? Could he really...? But, why? They had told him he'd be "wasting resources 'til the universe comes crashing down", as that most irritating mech had put it.

Mentally shrugging off the thought, he thought more. Yes! There it was! It _was_ his body! But... it wasn't. Confusion flashed through his mind; what was going on? He felt subroutines activate somewhere in the long-neglected depths of his processor – many familiar, some completely alien.

Perhaps if he could... ahh, yes. There. He activated the subroutine for his optics, and the circuits responded slowly. The first sight that greeted his optics was a dingy grey surface. He paused for a moment as he searched for the word. Oh, right. Ceiling.

So that meant... he was on a berth? He turned his head to one side and was met with a dirty, scratched wall. Slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, the mech looked at the rest of his surroundings. Apparently he was on a berth a small cell. Which, when he thought about it, seemed about right. The energy bars glowed dully – the light from the ceiling was far brighter than one might have expected and drowned out most of the ambient energy from the cell.

Focusing his gaze through the bars, he saw countless more cells identical to his own, some empty, some with recharging occupants. He started to look in the other direction, but something caught his attention. He looked down, and then slowly held a hand up. Was he... glowing? He looked at the other side of his hand, then turned it back, and then waved it back and forth. _Hmm,_ he thought. That was certainly different; he couldn't remember ever glowing.

A drawling voice brought him out of his thoughts, "Well, well. Look who finally decided ta come online."

The mech glanced up, looking through the bars and across the aisle. The speaker was a dark, dusty blue mech who was missing several sections of armor, allowing tightly coiled cables and wires to show.

A scowl twisted onto the mech's face – he didn't like the look of the blue mech. "Who are you?" he growled.

Shrugging nonchalantly, the blue mech replied, "That depends on who ya ask. Bosses call me 'X36. 'Round here," he waved his hand at the other cells, "I'm called Radius."

Radius studied the mech across from him, "You got a name?"

"I..." the mech paused. What _was_ his name? He knew he had one, or at least he used to. "I don't know."

Radius didn't seemed surprised by the memory loss, "What's yer designation?"

"P32381W08." the mech rattled off without pause. He started slightly when he realized what he'd done.

"Well then, Mister 'W08. Yer gonna need a name fer in here," Radius paused and canted his head, "I don' think I've ever seen such a bright paint job before."

The mech looked down at himself; at least they'd kept him the same color, he took quite a bit of pride in his pristine yellow armor. He hadn't noticed the paint before, having been distracted by his visible aura.

He looked blankly back at Radius, "Thank you."

Quirking an optic ridge, Radius replied, "Don' mention it. I s'pose we'll think of a good name for ya 'ventually... Just a word of warnin' for ya, though. If yer ever out'a there with some'a the others in here, stay away from those two," he pointed down the row to two cells, one right across from the other, "They'd just as soon kill ya as look at ya."

Turning his head, the yellow mech looked to the two indicated cells. One appeared to have a black and purple femme for an occupant; the other, a scuffed and dirty green mech. The yellow mech's faceplate fell into a distasteful scowl at the filthiness of the mech. His hand twitched. Such a shame they were in separate cells, this place was in serious need of a cleaning.

A door at the far end of the large room hissed open, the sound echoing down the aisle, followed by the methodical, measured steps of three drones. Those who had been in the complex for a while knew guards were posted outside the door anytime drones were sent in, and that one of them was about to be taken somewhere.

There was a shuffling sound as the other occupants of the cells all moved and watched the drones warily. An unlucky red-orange mech was the victim today, it seemed. The drones moved into the mech's cell and hauled him out, caring not if he tried to tear them limb from limb. After the drones had left with their target, the others relaxed slightly.

The yellow mech gave Radius a sidelong look and asked, "Where are they taking him?"

Radius shrugged, "No one knows. Won't see 'im again though."

"They will kill him?"

"Or sell 'im. Or something. Like I said, no one that _leaves_ ever comes back."

A voice called down from the femme's cell, "It's a pity they took that one. _He_ was actually entertaining." Obviously she'd been listening to Radius.

Radius shouted back, "_He_ pissed someone off. With any luck, you'll be next."

The femme clicked irritably, "Oh, don't be like that."

"Without you, we wouldn' have t' be in separate cages," Radius growled, "Who's bright idea was it t' kill three guards?"

The green mech pitched in, "They were askin' fer it though."

The yellow mech growled deep in his chest; the green mech's voice was just as horrendous as his armor. A sizzling snap split the air, leaving behind the faint scent of scorched dust and air. Feeling someone watching him, the yellow mech snapped irritably at Radius, "What?"

Radius paused for a moment, "Do that again."

"Do _what_ again?" the yellow mech asked. Another sizzle coursed through the air in the cell.

Radius' mouth twisted up into a viciously delighted grin, "So _that's_ what they did t' ya."

The yellow mech didn't reply right off, settling for a dark scowl and frigid glare – he was not amused in the slightest by the blue mech's lack of answer. Radius stood unflinchingly in the light of the glare, processor quickly running scenarios. He pointed at the yellow mech, "Grab one 'a the bars on the side 'a yer cell and think 'a something that irritates ya."

The yellow mech snatched a hold of the bar and stared at Radius, he was irritating enough at the moment. In a matter of nanokliks, a violent hissing was heard from the bar. The mech pulled his hand away and looked at the metal, now white-hot and deformed. He looked down at his hand in wonder.

Radius laughed, "Bots. I think we have our ticket outta here."


	4. Chapter 4

Like so many other things, this had started with a whisper. That tell-tale calm before the storm. No one could really say what it was that made them uneasy – it wasn't a sound, or a sight – it was just... a feeling. Something deep in their sparks that quietly warned them of a coming event.

Parameter had been in his office, double checking the coding for their latest experiment. Shrike had been in his medbay, preparing the space for the upcoming processor overhaul. Most of the guards, save the few on duty, had been enjoying their time off in the break room; lazily drinking some energon, swapping stories, sharing some crude jokes.

There was a moment of uneasiness that permeated the complex, followed by a resounding explosion that shook the building to its core. Shrike stumbled and swore as the power went out in his bay and Parameter jerked in fear and confusion, audios alert for any sounds in the hall. The guards hesitated for a nanoklik before dropping everything, grabbing their weapons, and running from the room as the klaxons started sounding.

The cell blocks were in the lower levels, and as the guards ran toward the lifts, they could see dark smoke billowing up through the shafts. One mech in the lead signaled to the others, dividing them into groups and sending them in different directions. As each group took off as ordered, he turned back around to the lift in front of his group, pulling his rifle up to the ready. The mechs behind him mirrored his actions.

A painful grinding sound came from the lift as the cables strained to pull up the load. With a hiss and a clang, the lift stopped and settled. The guards tensed a little more, the leader moving just a step closer to the lift, ready to fire.

Smoke still coiled up out of the shaft, causing the light from the alarms to scatter, casting everything in an eerie red glow that dimmed and brightened as the light rotated in time with the wailing of the alarms. An eternity passed as the guards waited for the lift door to open. The large gears in the door slammed into place, and the two halves slowly slid away from each other.

Finger at the ready and trigger half-drawn, the lead mech dropped his center of gravity into a more ready position. A final moment of metal grinding on metal and the doors slammed back, leaving the lift wide-open.

It was empty.

The guard slowly crept toward the entrance; they had some weird bots in the cell blocks, and it wouldn't do to be careless. Another guard came up behind him while the other two started looking down the halls behind them.

The lift sat open, beckoning them to come closer. Lights still flashed, and the alarms hadn't waned yet. The guards came to the door of the lift, and carefully looked inside, never once lowering their weapons. Another few steps had the guards inside the lift, looking at the ceiling of the apparatus and detecting nothing out of the ordinary.

"It's empty," the leader informed the others in the hall, lowering his weapon ever so slightly.

The two in the hall nodded in acknowledgment, but kept their vigil.

Suddenly, the lift gave a violent shudder and lurched. The guards inside froze and looked at each other. Another lurch made them snap their gazes up. A nanoklik stretched on for eternity and something above the lift could be heard groaning and shrieking; not the sounds of a living being, but the sounds of tearing metal. Instinct kicked in just a second late, and the guards lunged for the door at the same instant the cables supporting the lift gave way and the contraption, and its passengers, plummeted to the bottom of the complex.

The two guards in the hall whirled around as they heard the lift cables scream and break free. They turned just in time to see the frightened looks of the others just before they dropped out of sight. Time seemed to freeze as they stared where the lift should have been, where the other guards should have been. Training kicked in just after that; they hadn't been hired because they froze up in situations like this.

Snapping their rifles back to the ready, they reassessed their surroundings. A soft sound pulled their attention down the hall to the left. The smoke in the hall, already lit by the pulsating red from the alarms, became lit from the inside as a figure slowly made its way through the haze.

Something made the guards hesitate. The figure was moving with such confident grace, it was almost unreal. The smoke, drifting in channels and whirls, added to the glow emanating from the figure, making the mech look like a legend come to life.

His head was down, gaze directed to the ground in front of his feet, but the guards weren't so sure they wanted to see his faceplate, or his optics.

"Halt!" one of them commanded, voice faltering ever so slightly.

The figure paused, far too close to the guards for either of them to feel comfortable. In a quick, smooth movement, the figure's head came up, pinning the guards to the spot with his bright golden optics.

"Now why would I do that?" he asked in a voice as smooth and unnatural as the rest of his appearance.

The guards shifted their weight, wanting to run as fast as they could from the apparition in front of them, but they were stuck. The figure sensed their fear and a twisted sneer wormed its way to his faceplate. With a blinding flash and the sizzling of scorched air, twin whips of white-hot energy shot from the figure's hands and into the chest plates of the guards.

Faster than they could react, the guards were knocked back down the hall. They both hit the ground with sickening cracks. Neither moved. The armor covering their chests was melted and twisted out of the way, most of their internals scorched and blackened.

The figure in the smoke tilted his head and regarded the smoking wrecks before him. He whipped around, ready to attack, as he heard someone coming up behind him. He relaxed slightly when he saw who it was.

A dark blue mech was walking up with a rather large grin on his face. He offlined one optic in a wink as he reached the other, "Told'ja this'd work!"

"I never said it wouldn't." the yellow mech replied evenly.

There was a clatter of running feet and a femme's voice said, "Nice work here boys!"

The blue mech looked across the hall to the femme standing there, "Nocturne, where're th' others?"

She pointed up, "Heading out. Evulse took the lead."

"Very good," he looked at the yellow mech, "C'mon, let's go."

The yellow mech didn't move, "I'm not leaving."

Nocturne stared at the mech in confusion, "What? Why not?"

The mech looked the femme in the optic, "Because I was never going to."

"You mean we just went through all of this, and now you're just going to _stay_?" her confusion had quickly morphed into anger, "What do you think they're going to do to you?"

Radius mirrored Nocturne's confusion, but the yellow mech appeared not to notice, "It doesn't matter. They can't kill me."

Nocturne looked ready to argue but Radius held up a hand and stopped her. He looked at the yellow mech's determined optics. As much as he didn't like the yellow fragger, he was still one of them, and Radius sure as Pit didn't want him taken apart, but it didn't look like anything was going to change the mech's mind. Radius nodded once and started to say something.

A distant shout from farther down the hall made him stop and they all listened. Angry footsteps could be heard getting closer.

"Go," the yellow mech commanded.

Radius didn't hesitate; he turned and, grabbing Nocturne by the arm, ran down another hall to the freedom of the surface.

The footsteps grew ever louder and then the small contingent of armed mechs rounded the corner, skidding to a rather haphazard halt when they saw the mech. One of them barked an order at the yellow mech. Turning slowly, the mech put his hands up in a mockery of peace. He may not have been escaping, but that didn't mean he was just going to give up.

He moved to step forward and a dozen rifle barrels trained on his chest and head. He asked, "What do you believe happens when your spark extinguishes?"

Confusion flickered across several of the younger guards' faceplates. The mech looked at each of them in turn, "Well?"

He received no answer. A malicious grin, thrown into sharp relief by his aura, contorted his face into a demonic mask, "I guess you're just going to have to find out, then."

A blinding light was the last thing any of them would ever see.

* * *

"And how would _I_ benefit from this... exchange you are proposing?"

A piercing stare directed itself at the large purple mech sitting on the other side of the desk. It was a look well-practiced; one that would make a lesser mech flinch.

"That would depend on what it is you want," the mech replied evenly.

"What _I _want," the former repeated, the purple mech nodded once.

Leaning back in his seat and tapping his chin with one clawed hand, the bronze mech contemplated the deal. Not every bot could get an audience with Ripsaw; he was powerful and feared, and he knew how to use it. The relaxed, almost slouched, posture he sat with transmitted the hierarchy of the conversation with crystal clarity – as powerful as the purple mech was elsewhere, Ripsaw was in control here.

Ripsaw paused in his rhythmic tapping, "Say I wished to... commission a couple of these creations."

The purple mech kept his faceplate at a careful neutral. Ripsaw continued, "For asset protection and the like. One can't be too careful, can they?" he gave a pointed look at the other mech.

"No, they can't."

"Besides, if they're any bit as good as you claim they are, they'll be able to earn their keep and then some," the bronze mech grinned.

"Indeed they would be," the mech agreed, "I suppose it could be arranged."

"Of course it could be, as long as you want my help."

A message ping hit the purple mech's communicator, but he ignored it. Ripsaw noticed the mech's distracted gaze as the ping came again, more urgently this time. He smirked, "Please. Don't abstain on my account. I'm sure that's quite the urgent message."

Usually, Ripsaw frowned upon interruptions in these business meetings, but the purple mech wasn't about to question the sudden change of pace. He nodded in thanks and answered the internal call.

_.:This had better be important. You were instructed not to contact me.:._

_.:I know sir, but we have a serious situation here.:._

The mech scowled; that was never a good statement.

_.:Explain.:._

_.:The subjects in cell block 3-2 have escaped.:._

_.:What?:._

_.:It appears subject P32381W08 blew the bars right off the cells and helped them escape. He didn't leave with them, though. We have him in lock-down right now.:._

_.:Keep him there. I want to question him when I return. What about the other cells?:._

_.:Still intact. I don't think they knew the other blocks were there.:._

_.:...Very well. I will return shortly.:._

The mech cut the line before the guard could reply.

This was bad. It could be worse, but it was still bad enough. Cell block 3-2 contained most of the more insane creations; having them loose on the street would be very bad for business. More importantly, they would know the location of the complex. If they were captured and interrogated...

The purple mech stood suddenly, "I must leave. Something important has come up."

Ripsaw looked up from where he had been examining a claw, "What kind of important?" His tone conveyed his displeasure.

"The kind of important that puts this whole operation in jeopardy."

The bronze mech scowled darkly, but waved the purple mech out. Just as the mech cleared the door frame, Ripsaw called out, "Oh, and Shockwave?"

The mech stopped and turned. Ripsaw sat his hand on the chair again, "I still want those commissions."

Shockwave frowned, but nodded, "If this doesn't go to the Pit, you will have them."

He turned back around and hurried out of the building, transforming into his alternate mode as he hit the street. A couple breems into the return trip, he commed Shrike.

There was a pause before the medic answered, _.:What?:._

_.:Begin work on S33241S98. We are going to need him.:._

_

* * *

A/N: More mysteries. Bit shorter chapter than usual because I felt this was the best place to break up the happneings_


End file.
